Fairytale tips

Now I know how it feels to be the lesser-loved sibling in a family. The dreg in the house. No matter how hard you try, how well you mean it – you sweep the floors, dust the furniture, repair the leaks, you do your best – you're never loved quite equally in return. You're never going to be good enough because there's a line drawn.

You'll never understand why.

It's been a private mystery, when as a kid listening to the story of Cinderella and The Ugly Duckling, how miserable one must go through life forever forced into repentence for no sin other than to be born into a household. A household with lines.

It took me a while, but now I know. I'm the dreg. They make sure I remember. They talk about it ever so often, these elder siblings. Sometimes under guise, sometimes outwardly sneering. Seems like it's their way of keeping me in my place. First poking, then pricking, finally piercing – over and over again. Not good enough! You're not us! they cajole. You don't feel like us, breathe like us, walk like us.

I try to understand why.

Am I gawky? Is it how I look, my slanty eyes? Is it my tongue, heavy and clumsy on this refined language? Is it who I hold as Creator? But Papa had said this didn't matter. You were born in this house and you will be equal, he had promised.

His promise was written down plain for all of us siblings to see, and placed in a shrine. These shall be the house rules, he had said, the canons. I peek at the rules and it speaks of a good home, that I am a true member of the family no more no less. With hope borne on fresh wings, I walk away. I will be loved after all.

And I sweep the floors, dust the furniture, repair the leaks; this time even harder in the hope that they'll take me as an equal. I bring in fruit from the farm, fish from the river, and candles from my own cast. I break my back carrying rock and sawing wood to make new quarters and stables for the livestock. But come dinner, in their fine garments and jewelry, they point me away from the main table. Eat over there.

But why, I ask? Without even looking at me, the elder siblings in rehearsed sequence say this is for the good of the family. That I tend to gobble too much, that I'm greedy, I make strange noises while eating, and always tend to take more than my share. That there are other siblings of their kind who are want of food. They are want of clothes even, they reason.

But there is enough food, I blurt. You, the elders, have stocks of the best meats in your store and merchants have come far and away to buy our farm yields. The family – all of us – has worked hard for it. Why do you not share?

Silence, imbecile!, the siblings in fine garments roar.

An elder has raised his fist, another murmurs about the dungeon, and a third smiles condescendingly. He points to the stained worktable outside. “Know your place in this house, little brother,” he says. “See I called you brother. We like your work ethic and what you bring to this compound, but you're not one of us. Not yet. Maybe in 15 years, maybe more, but not yet. Now, just eat there.” He jangles the keys to the dungeon just so I get the point.

I'll never understand why.

I'm back in my room, the room by the outhouse with but one window and the sturdy casts of candles. Should I cast more? Should I add jasmine and cinnamon and local mint to the wax? Should I fill my room with light? Lots of light and scents just so to sustain my spirit?

I move to the window to ponder this over. Instead I see a dusty reflection of me. I study the lines, the profile, the back. How different am I; I still fail to see what they see.

I look harder, beyond the reflection and I finally get a vision. They see me as an illegitimate, a child born out of wedlock, an inferior bloodline.

In their eyes, I'm a bastard.

Hurt, I reach for the picture book and lie back in bed. It's The Ugly Duckling. I skip the front pages – I know the beginnings and the middle, in fact I know the story well. I just want to read once again the ending. The part where in the end, a swan emerges.


Postscript:
This post was written in response to Khairy Jamaluddin's astute observations on Friday. The Oxford-educated Deputy Chief of Umno Youth was speaking at the opening of Jerlun Division Umno Youth delegates meeting.

He said: “The internal split within Umno will weaken the party’s position and this will pave way for the Chinese Malaysians to make various demands to benefit their community.”

Quoted but never carried in the Malay and English press, the shiok-sendiri world of Zam. I didn't know about it until late this morning.

This KJ guy is a walking powder keg.